Death Becomes Her
by Julesville
Summary: Chris is about to die, despite Jill's efforts. In her moment of sorrow she desperatly tries to make him realise why he has to stay alive. It's rough goings for the survivors, Umbrella's dead, but when conserning zombies, it's not so great.
1. Resident Prologue

RESIDENT PROLOUGUE 

Death Becomes Her

by Julesville – aka Fumo the Smoker, aka Bethlehem, aka Spike Justice

Disclaimer: I do not own Resident Evil series, the characters and ideas are the intellectual properties of their creators and Capcom. However, original characters and ideas are my property and cannot be used without my permission.

Note: I'm trying a new style, before I would take a very long time to get a piece done, now I'm trying to put them out quicker, so excuse me if you think it's too sloppy. I welcome any crisism for any reason, don't be a jerk though.

Prolouge -  
Jill's body was giving up, her arm was tearing from it's socket, her wounds screamed for relief, and he mind kept her juiced on a steady mix of adrenaline and abject fear, yet she still continued. Beyond even her own belief she strove on and eventually her hand burst from cold freezing current and grabbed a hold of hard stone.

Using every muscle between her wrist and her shoulder, she pulled until her head slowly slide from out of the river. Instantly she gobbled up the fresh air and filled her lungs. With renewed strength she inched her body out of the water, but still the load on her other arm threatened to return her to the chilly river.

All that was required to save herself was to release two or three digits and let the hulk disappear under the rapids, but before she would ever consider that, she would let go of her savior rock and back stroke back in. Her fingers wouldn't even let go if she had the power, already cold and frozen into a claw, an unseen force kept the hand strong and her grip firm.

With the last breaths of her second wind she pulled her cargo out of the waves, Chris Redfield's stubble covered face slide threw calmly, his eyes tight and a blank grimace looking so peaceful even in such life-threatening times. He coughed and spit then breathed roughly making raspy sounds.

Chris wasn't dead yet, despite what other saner people might think. Sure he was bleeding internally and externally and his own will to stay alive had long left him, but he still had that blessed look in his eyes, eyes so full of life, and as long as that remained, Jill would pull.

Using her stomach muscles her crawled and grinded her way onto the shore, and with one more thrust she dragged Chris up next to her.

She took only a nano-second to catch her breath, to analyze her own aches and wounds, not nearly enough, but enough for her, and then inspected her cargo.

Chris had slumped uncomfortably across the thick grass with on arm underneath him and the other hand still in the water. The moon light glistened on the new blood stains that appeared below his Kevlar vest.

All around them the forest was like worst punk concert you could ever go to, noise pollution and violence abound, it seemed in this moment when she finally could pay attention to her surroundings, they'd all been trying to get her attention.

The Black Forest, ancient German dark garden, all around her the hills were infested with the dark pines it was known for, and with the moon at a full in a star crushed night you could see the silvery outline of everything. The river she and her weight had nearly died getting across was a tributary of the Rhine, carrying freshly melted ice water that had come from the mountains during this year's spring thaw. It's waters were nearly black, accented by the massive reflection of the moon across it's stormy scalp. Across from her the forest moaned in sorrow and rage, gun shots filled the air with maniacal percussion, undead screams provided both baritones and falsettos. Smoke rose from somewhere in the distance but as difficult to see as it dispersed across the midnight.

She scanned the opposite shore as she pulled Chris by his vest toward the tree line, as she had known the slow dimwitted zombies wouldn't follow her and Chris into the river, it's current was too quick for them to tread and make it out alive, much less her.

It was kind of miraculous the way she'd done it, dragging the bigger Chris threw thick forest over her shoulder, then leaping into rapids all to save her friend. Then again, considering what they'd been threw in the past together, it was only as incredible as all the other mishaps. Still, she'd been unable to leave the man, they're comradery being that strong that they'd risk they're own lives to save the other, do foolish things in impossible situations hoping beyond hope that everything might turn out alright if they just remained strong and united.

Jill Valentine, was a warrior, but still a woman, and perhaps this relationship had more of an importance to her. There were deeper reasons why she'd risk so much for the man, she knew, she'd always known, what she didn't know is the lengths she'd go to stay with him.

She was shaking, not from the cold, though that was getting to her, but from fear as the man's life was in her hands. Retaliating with that hidden strength she possessed, she calm herself and pulled the Green Herb salve the R and D guys had come up with her vest pack. Pulling up Chris's shirt, she inspected his wound, right above his waist, deep and still seeping. As she rubbed it deeper into his wound, he groaned and yelped, squirming as best he could with no energy. Finally his eyes lifted, the life still there, his mouth puckered but didn't make a sound until finally he groaned loudly.

"Owww, stop it!" He whined.

"Chris, I have to rub this in deep to stop the bleeding, don't move." She let careen from her haggard throat out at him.

His eyes focused briefly on her, in that moment he showed trust, loyalty, friendship, and he calmed down as her lay on the ground, only twitching uncontrollably a few times before she finished.

"Gaaa…" He mumbled, "We… where are we?"

Leaning back to sit on the grass she rubbed the remainder of the salve onto her ankle. Some ways back she had fallen threw a rotten tree trunk and twisted her ankle. She could walk but she knew once she stopped it would swell and make her immobile, hopefully the slave would bring down the inflammation, "Other side of the Rhine, safe, hopfully."

Chris squirmed like a snake trying to shed it's skin, "Uhh… Jill, gimme a ciggy…"

Curled up into a ball, Jill lifted her head, "You quit."

"Naw… No I didn't."

"Yes, two years ago. You said after surviving zombies and monsters, you didn't want to die of lung cancer." Jill said as she studied her partner as he shrugged continuously threw the grass.

"Uhh… where's Al, he'll give me a smoke…" He groaned in a worn-thin tone, "Albert!"

Jill almost gasped at the mention of the name. Once a reliable friend and comrade known as Al or Albert, he was now the soulless betrayer known only as Weskar. Jill harbored plenty of ill will toward the traitor, but Chris did more then anyone. The bastard had almost killed him and his sister, as well as condemning most of their friends to death, and pulling the trigger on their Bravo team pal, Enrico. The fact that he would call out for him in his half-dead condition was more worrying then his actually condition, he was losing himself.

It was clear now that he was in shock. The wound was already stopped up, but he'd lost a lot blood. Without medical attention soon, he was in serious danger of dieing. All she could really do was hope and kept his spirits up.

Moving to the body, she let her hard shell crack a little, and a piece of the emotional Jill she had locked away long ago, and took a hold of his hand in both of hers. Chris immediately stopped his tossing and turned to focus his weary eyes on her.

"Chris," she whispered with more emotion then she could stop, "You have to stay with me here. We're in Germany, you're here with me, and help is on the way. It'll all be ok in a matter of minutes, Claire will come, we'll get you to a hospital, and then… then we'll all be fine… we'll be together…"

She choked on the last words, her original speech constantly shifting between comforting fluff and genuine sentiment.

Chris looked up at her with tired, but intrigued eyes, and mouthed, "Jill?"

Despite what her mind told her, she couldn't stop now, "Any minute now, we'll get picked up and the troops will kill all the zombies and… we can put this, this tragedy all behind us finally. We'll be able to sleep without… without seeing the faces of all the dead people, without feeling like Raccoon City was our fault, we can forget all of the horrible things Umbrella did to us, what they forced us to do… I, you just have to keep thinking like that, that one day everything's going to be OK, and we'll be happy."

Peering threw squinted eyes, afraid if she opened them anymore she would leak tears down onto Chris's chest, she saw his face, no longer twisted in confusion and pain. Now it was calm and fluid, she could see he was back with her, at least momentarily.

In this moment of honesty, he looked as if he had oceans worth of feelings to unload onto her, but when he finally spoke his words were short and carefully chosen.

"Jill… I don't think I can make it this time."

"No." Jill sniffed, gripping his hand tighter.

His eyes closed, "It hurts too much… but I can't feel anything… I'm so cold. Everything has gone wrong with my life… everything I hoped for myself died at Spencer Mansion. Everything I've wanted is so far away… everyone I care about is so far… 'cept you…"

"Yes, Chris, I'm here, I'm right here." She called to him as if he were a thousand miles away, "I'm still here with you. I know our lives are so much different now, then what we expected, but I've still be here with you the whole time. That's gotta mean something to you right?"

Chris drifted back, his eyes opened and he focused on her once again, "Of course."

"Then stay here for me… please, Chris, if my friendship, my… love ever meant anything to you, you have to stay for me. I need you…" The shell was broken now, and some 20 years worth or repressed tears flowed down the sides of her checks.

Chris looked up at her as if he understood and was clueless at the same time, "Ok… I'll stay, because…I'm scared and I need you too… more then you could every know.

Believe it or not you could get used to zombies, genetic freaks, monster plants, haunted houses, and having your day ruined completely by global corporate espionage. You never however get used to seeing the people you care about get hurt, every stab feels just like the first. You'd give anything to relieve their pain, and you'd be just as surprised at how used you got to risking your life for them

To think, only a few hours before hand she thought the day was going to be boring.

COMING SOON: In a few seconds the day changed, Chris is on the verge of death and Jill is on the verge of collapse. In the next chapters you will see the series of events that led to this; how a another outbreak occurred in Germany, how the two ended up alone in the forest running for their lives, who dealt Chris the death blow? The answer to these and more, and by the end, the conclusion. Will he live or die, and what will ti mean for Jill and Chris's futures...

TO BE CONTINUED...


	2. Heart Failure

Death Becomes Her

By Julesville

Chapter 1 - "Heart Failure"

FOUR YEARS after Raccoon City…

Time Frame: Late Morning, March 30th

--------------------------

"Forty-five seconds, Claire, think you can still take it?" Jill loomed in the back ground, her voice jeering and mellifluous.

"I'm fine." Claire groaned, obviously not fine, from behind her arm, pressed across her face as she held them both akimbo.

She'd been like that for around nine minutes and twenty seconds, and Jill could easily see the beads of perspiration on her forehead, some matting down the stray strands of hair like paste. Her arms were quivering, tired from the strain, more obvious in her hands then her stiff elbows. Jill could also see her face, focused, but pained.

Jill smirked from behind, the sight brought back a cornucopia of sweaty memories. She checked the small stopwatch again as it hung from between her fingers.

"Thirty seconds, getting tired?" Jill mused.

"Nope.. Just fine." Claire grumbled, another obvious lie.

The pistol in Claire's hands made rhythmic rattling noises as it jiggled, almost in time with the stopwatch, counting down another fifteen seconds. The strain must have been a lot, that particular pistol was heavy.

"Ten seconds…" She whispered into Claire's ear, like the devil to a prospect. Part of her ribbing was to psych the young girl out, but mostly it was out of boredom, as she had to stand there for ten whole minutes watching her.

Finally, the moment came, moving really close, Jill bellowed in her disciplinarian voice, "Fire!"

Immediately and anxiously Claire pulled the trigger, having already been aiming for the last ten minutes. With such a long period of silence, the shot burst like a church bell up close, everyone had to jump. The heavy loaded bullet popped out in cloud of dust, and reappeared within a poster several yards away. The poster, a fearsome representation of the old Tyrants, with massive bony figure and exposed heart, barely even felt the shot, as it hit just to the right of the hip in the blank, empty part of the set up.

"Oww, no good." Jill cooed finding her volume momentarily lowered, "Look's like you're dead."

Claire growled under her breath, and dropped the gun onto the table in front of her. Immediately she curled up her arms and held them close to their body , each one stroking the other the best it could, "Ahhh, this drill is dumb. I've killed a whole bunch of Tyrants before. This proves nothing."

"What it proves is, that if you're holding a gun for ten minutes strait you couldn't hit jack." Jill smirked.

"But when would that ever happen." Claire said stepping back and wiping her drenched forehead on her sleeve.

Jill shrugged s she circled around Claire, "It's not so much how useful this exercise is, as how you would be prepared if the situation occurred. Say you're hiding in a broom closet, and any minute a Tyrant is going to bust in and kill you. You have to be focused and ready for as long as possible, or end up Zombie butter."

"Bah…" Claire grumbled as she observed the poster.

"You see, this is the kind of training you get in S.T.A.R.S., situational preparedness, I went threw it, your brother, Barry, even Rebecca. You still need to learn a few things despite how many Tyrants you've killed."

"Yeah, I get it, the all too subtle hints from you and my brother to go back to college."

Before Jill could offer a rebuttal, Claire, with practiced speed, grabbed the pistol in one hand and emptied the rest of the clip into the Tyrant across from her. Her gun roaring and breathing fire in steady intervals of a half-a-second each. When she finished the barrel fumed a tiny wisp of smoke, and several large holes were bored into the exposed heart section of the Tyrant, the back wall of the shooting range fully visible through the wound. Claire pursed her lips and blew the wisp away, then coolly place the pistol back on the table

Claire turned to Jill with a coy, cutesy smile, "And that is my not so subtle reply."

Jill shook her head and chuckled, "Let's go, trigger."

With Claire in tow, the former member of Raccoon City's finest, strolled casually away from the shooting range, hands in the pockets of her blue slacks, leaving behind the way to familiar smell of fire and gunpowder, and into the wide open front portico of the FRO headquarters, which had the delicious smell of recycled air and fichus.

FRO, also known as the Free Reign Organization, was the culmination of four years worth of Anti-Umbrella activities. The name had two meanings, one for the obvious choose by it's creators to weather the storm without the use of an umbrella, and two, for the wide sweeping powers that other sovereign nations had given it. In the epoch follow the American President's choice to nuke Raccoon City to stop an intra-state epidemic, the world had been scared shitless by the idea of another outbreak. The whirlwind of political action that resulted not only blew the skeptics out of their seats, but instilled thousands of laws and executive decisions in every country, ranging from sanctions against bio-chemical weapon's research to anti-corporate laws to ordinances for cleanliness.

The best outcome however had to be the complete and utter destruction of Umbrella Incorporated, faced with criminal and civil class-action lawsuits, war crimes accusations, charter violations, as well as the hatred of everyone on the planet, the outfit not only folded, but had it's feet cut out from beneath, crumbled to the ground, crumpled into a ball, imploded, then exploded, and had it's rubble burnt to the ground. Yeah, life was good.

The surprise was the power that FRO had gotten, the organization once made up of the limited recourses of a hand full disgruntled RC survivors, was now a UN sanctioned, first-world funded, well supplied and staffed, strike force equipped to handle pretty much anything.

The FRO headquarters was a testament to that, built with a fraction of a billion plus dollar annual budget supplied by nearly every country and philanthropic organization on the planet. The heptagonal building, nestled in the hills close to the town of A Coruña, in the Galicia region of northern Spain, was known to the public as "The Coffin" or sometimes "Evil's Coffin," because while plenty of bad things were shipped in, they never came out again.

The Coffin was a veritable fortress, the nerve center of the global intelligence network that could make George Tenet cry, staffed with not only the best and brightest of the day, but also most of the survivors of Raccoon City, all having witnessed first hand the terror of a Zombie ripping a loved one to pieces, FRO openly employed them in whatever job they qualified for. FRO's para-military unit was the foremost authority in combating zombies, equipped with the best arms designed specifically to the task.

In addition to the militia force, were the countless researchers who toiled in the Coffin's state-of-the-art labs on better vaccines and weapons, there were the analysts and information people who kept FRO updated on the possible epidemics, intelligence on ex-Umbrella employees, and going threw the endless amounts of seized data from the government raids on Umbrella's hard-drives. The lawyers played their part too, in a constant war with Umbrella subsidiaries, the public relations people kept FRO in media long enough to be adored and respected.

It was quite a venture, and Jill was determined to remain a key part of it.

Setting a brisk military pace from one of the many shooting ranges of the complex, onto one of the tiny suspension bridges that cris-crossed above the Front Portico, the Coffin's main lobby, she took a moment to look down at the sight. The massive three story bay windows that looked out over the city of A Coruña and the Atlantic Ocean were breath taking, but the view was dominated by FRO's tribute to Raccoon City, an elegant four pointed star cast in silver that nearly touched the ceiling, with it's base on a massive polished wood cylinder, on which where tens of thousands of tiny gold plaques for each person that had died there. There weren't nearly enough for everyone who'd died, because sadly, they just couldn't remember everybody, whole neighborhoods and suburbs having been wiped out, but still, there were more that were added each day.

From around several administrative desks, people scurried across the marble floor, coming in and out. Some where business folk and unremarkable, but a few of the FRO troops patrolled the place in their standard Raccoon City blue uniforms, each with a FRO patch, a rectangle of a pale yellow star in a rain storm, homage to the old S.T.A.R.S. symbol. However the most remarkable were the laborers who wheeled in massive crates all day, one might think it odd that they'd go in the front and not a service entrance, but there in lied the reason. Where they were going there was only one heavily guarded entrance.

Beneath The Coffin was "The Sepulcher," a massive hallow metal egg that was buried beneath the complex with one elevator leading to it. The Sepulcher was the storage facility of FRO, where all those dangerous vials of T-Virus and Nemesis Parasite were kept, catalogued, and completely disappeared from the world. It was Chris Redfield's idea, he wanted to make sure the things that went in would never be able to get out.

Turning back to the path she was treading she turned her head back to Claire. The young Redfield sibling was also gazing off at the front portico, kept in check with business ponytail and thick white leather jacket that had the words "Stone Cold Crazy" stenciled in on the back in red. In truth, Jill admired the girl, even if she tended to fly off the handle.

"You know Claire, you actually did pretty well on the exercise. Most of the other recruits could barely hold the pistol up for the whole time."

Claire lazily turned her head back around to watch Jill as she moved, "That's not that comforting."

"You're not upset, are you?"

"No, it's just… I've worked just as hard as everyone to get here, but I'm stilled treated like a kid."

"Claire, that's not true."

"Of course it is," Clair bellowed, throwing up an indignant finger, "And it's all because of big brother Chris, who thinks I'm too young for everything, and everybody else just goes along like a bunch of robots."

"Claire…"

"Don't deny it, Jill. You walk around behind him all day like a love sick puppy."

"Excuse me!" Jill said turning on her heel and staring the younger girl in the face.

"Oh please, Jill, a sister knows when her brother is being baited."

"I am not baiting you're brother." Jill bellow with her own indignant finger point.

"Well, then why are you always following him around and doing what he says, and being so perfect so he'll notice you." Claire groaned putting her hands on her hips and arching her back.

"First off, it's my job. Second, in case you haven't noticed, your brother is a good man, who's saved my life and has helped me out at every opportunity. You should know something about that, right."

Claire averted her eyes, knowing all too well it was true. Jill smiled on the inside, but remain resolutely heated on the outside, once again the subject matter about her and Chris could be changed without suspicion. It was kind of funny actually, she'd told herself so many times her reasons for sticking with him was to repay a debt, that it seemed like some boiler plate speech to prevent herself from thinking otherwise.

Gripping Claire around the shoulders and continued on, she lightened her grimace, "Look, I'll level with you, your brother does want you to go back to college, and we, all of us, feel the same way, not because Chris says so, but because you shouldn't be wasting these years stuck here, you should be having fun and realizing your potential. We were forced into this work, you don't have to be."

Claire lowered her head and her tone became somber, "I was there, Jill, I saw Raccoon City die, I outran the tyrants and hunters, and I was nearly blow up by the nuke. You can't tell me I'm not a part of this too."

Jill sighed loudly, "You know you're just as troublesome as Chris says."

---------------------------

"This is it?" Chris finally uttered like small pebble falling from his pursed lips, eyes lowered and brow slightly furrowed.

From his casual stance next to the steel case, Leon Kennedy whirled his head around to look at his associate. "What?"

Chris held his inquiry at bay before, out of courtesy, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was getting gypped, "This is all of it?"

Leon smiled casually at the questions, a trait he'd developed only after several years of inexperienced grimaces. He leaned down and unclasped the thick latches on the case, opening it to reveal several neatly packed rows of tiny pencil-shaped vials tucked in cozily in gray packing foam.

With that pardoner's smile, Leon began his shill, "With the three other cases I brought you, that makes 576 vials of T-Virus."

Chris looked down at the vials, their contents mostly clear liquid, each containing the most deadly plague known to mankind. The only way Chris could ensure it stayed confined was to ensure all of it was under his lock and key in his Sepulcher. Right then, the three other containers were being carefully shipped by containment suited technicians to their separate cells to be locked away from the lives they could destroy forever.

"That's not what I asked, Leon." Chris stared down at the man with emotionless eyes, imbued with martyr-like confidence from the worn S.T.A.R.S. wind breaker he wore, a relic from the past he now used all too often like a concentration camp tattoo.

"Then maybe you should ask you're questions a little straighter." Leon mused.

Chris smiled and obviously fake smile, "You know, Leon, we really appreciate the US government's help with rounding up stray Umbrella resources…"

"And we're happy to give it…" Leon interjected.

"Yeah, but it was understood when the UN gave us our powers that FRO would have the first crack at anything related to Umbrella. Now the US sent you in to where ever you got it, and I know you risked your neck for us getting it, but I've got to wonder what exactly you all decided to keep out of that treasure haul."

"Chris, 576 vials of the stuff we found lying around in a vault, we're giving all this to you, isn't that enough."

"Enough is all of it, and it's not a gift, we're the ones charged to handle it, not the US government."

"The US is footing the bill of all this, remember," Leon said using his hands in grandiose gestures, "Them and a bunch of edgy countries who are worried about putting everything in your hands, Chris. We trust you enough, but not enough for your standards."

Chris pursed his lips to prevent a cruse, "So how much of the T-Virus do you have?"

"We took 4 vials from this haul." Leon said flatly.

"That could be termed a breach of the international agreement to let FRO do it's job."

"I'm only telling you this because you're a friend and you need to know. We're not going to be publishing this info."

Chris watched the man, the tireless civil servant who had saved his sister's life, it looked like he was going to have to trust him again, "Are they safe?"

"Of course." Leon nodded.

"Fine, but if something goes wrong, if whatever experiments your scientist plan to perform on the T-Virus go bad, which they very well may, I'm going to have to pull the plug myself."

"On the US Government?"

"Yes."

Leon sighed and shrugged, "Fine, if you really think you've got that much stroke."

A pair of technicians arrived and resealed the steel case as Leon returned to his feet. His observation of things complete, Chris made an about face and silently walked towards the elevator. Leon soon followed close, silent as well. It seemed the two didn't have much to say after business, they took too many chances on each other to allow for pleasantries. In Leon, Chris saw a hero mired in bad decisions, and in Chris, Leon saw a bad decision mired in heroics. It was a doctrinal conflict.

Leaning against the door to the one elevator that exited the Sepulcher was the one man army, Bruce McGivern, government problem solver. Though scruffy and unkempt looking, the man could probably take Chris down in a matter of seconds, and it just so happened that he was Leon's escort.

"Bruce, time to go." Leon called.

Bruce nodded and straightened himself up, turning to wait for the elevator.

Chris looked to the side where a certain technician, wearing a white face mask and suit, had been waiting for them, "Three to go up, Loren."

"Yes, Sir." He said in a heavy Spanish accent. Leaning down to a microphone on his work bench he spoke, "Storage to Surface, three to ride, repeat three to ride."

"Acknowledged, three to ride." A voice came back with speaker-quality clearness.

Within seconds the heavy doors unclasped giant internal locks and moved apart. The trio stepped into the wide white room, being the only elevator, it was made enormous to accommodate whatever needed to be hidden down there.

Finding another wall to lean against, Bruce yawned and turned his head to the side, uninterested in his job as baby sitter.

This left Leon and Chris to stand fairly close to each other, neither willing to walk away from the other. Not out of politeness or anything so trite, but because they both felt they shouldn't hate each other. They were both survivors, both officers of the law, and yes, Chris owed him everything for keeping his sister safe, for letting him know where he could find her.

Still, practiced words seeped forth like a fresh wound, and Chris found himself shaking his head, "I don't understand, Leon."

"Hmm?" Leon queried, tilting his head slightly.

"FRO was your idea. After Raccoon City you pledged to form an organization to fight Umbrella. FRO is built on the intelligence network you established."

"What's your point?"

"My point is why aren't you working here? Why did you go to them? You've changed too much."

Leon raised his head slightly staring back at Chris, "I didn't change. I was only going to do the vigilante thing until everybody started paying attention, but you, you haven't changed either."

"What?" Chris groaned sensing something bad was coming.

"After Raccoon City you went completely off the books. No one could find you while you were off doing your lone gunman thing. Most people think you came to your senses but I know better. It's still you against the world isn't?"

"What kind of world do you think we live in, Leon?"

The rest of the ride was in silence.

------------------------

As Chris turned, he was just in time to see Leon barrel forward with a surprised groan, his arms flailing and feet jerking to stop his decent. Out of Leon's previous shadow was a she-wolf, with a strong arm and iron fist she struck the man in the back with the brevity of a wasp sting and the force of a bear claw.

"Leon! Why didn't you tell me you were stopping bye." Claire yelled when she morphed from her feral huntress persona back into a "normal" human. She smiled with girlish glee as she stood over her prey.

Leon quickly regained his footing and righted himself, rubbing the area of his lower back where he'd been assault, "Because for some reason I always associate you with intense pain."

Moving in for the kill, Claire chose to play with her quarry instead. She spread her thin wingspan around Leon's broad, leather-jacket-covered shoulder and arms, and clasped them across his chest, pulling the noose tighter and laying her head across his shoulder blades, "Ahh, don't be like that, guardian angel. You know I'm just a fan of tough loving. Whacha doing here?"

"Dropping off a little gift." He said captured in her grasp, not looking all too upset.

"Sounds fascinating, let's go talk about it over drinks, ok."

"It's like 10 in the morning." Leon blurted.

"So, we'll drink wine. This is Europe after all."

"I guess I have an hour to spare. Ok, show me the way."

"Sweet!" Claire giggled with schoolgirl obviousness.

Placing two hands on her caged victim's shoulders she quickly ushered him towards the Coffin's grandiose front doors, barely taking notice of anyone else in the area.

Finally as she was almost gone, she threw her head back and beamed, "Bye Chris. Bye Bruce, nice to see you again…"

Then the two were gone.

Slowly Chris wheeled his head around to where Bruce McGivern was standing. The man sported wide "deer in headlights" eyes and half-opened mouth. When the man recovered and saw Chris staring at him, he wiped the look off his face, "Um, where're the helicopters?"

Chris lifted a finger in a general direction and spoke with an equally listless tone, "Back there."

Looking in that direction, he turned his head back and gave a weak smile, "Well, uh, thanks, Chris, I'll see ya round." He said before turning to leave.

"Yeah, so long." Chris mumbled, still a little uncomfortable.

As Bruce strolled off into his arbitrary direction, he crossed paths with Jill Valentine, who had lingered nearby ever since Claire had pounced on Leon, but had gone unseen. She got the drop on the spy by showing that official's smile and griping him firmly on the shoulder as he passed.

"Bruce, thanks for the shipment, we appreciate it." Jill glowed with business manners.

Still looking a little shocked, Bruce managed a smile and nodded, "No problem…" Before he continued on his way.

Train wrecks were nice and all, but you could only take one at a time. As the ever-smiley Jill approached the light house-esque bastion he'd taken in the middle of the portico, he thrust a thumb back towards the door.

"Um, Jill did you see that?"

Always the sane one, Jill nodded and chuckled, "Ah, young love…"

"Yeah, youn… wait what?" Chris groaned.

"Ah, wittle Claire-Bear's growing up. Soon you'll be a grandpa, Chrizzly-Bear."

"Shut it with the snide, surprisingly clever remakes. Besides, he's no good for her." Chris said entering grumpy mode.

Sliding up beside her old war buddy, Jill offered sympathy, among some of the best things she had to offer, with compassionate eyes and puffy lips. In her smart little navy blue slacks and blazer with snappy white button blouse, she looked very much like the voice of reason personified. Just what he needed to get over an uncomfortable debate with a jaded ally.

"I can see it now, we'll have the wedding at the A Coruña City Hall, I'll be the maid of honor, you'll walk her down the aisle, the President could be the best man, Rebecca could be the flower girl, heh, heh. We could have a cake shaped like a Zombie head and when you cut into it, it bleeds red frosting" Jill chose instead to twist the knife.

"Knock it off…" Chris said flatly, in his present state unwilling to take a joke.

Jill continued to smile, "Come on, don't you think it'd be cute. Claire and Leon, boyfriend and girlfriend, after all they'd been through together."

He had to admit the idea of finding love after a horrible crisis might have been nice, but stil he knew it was wrong, "I don't think that would be best for her."

Jill tilted her head in confusion, "Really?"

"Come on, we should go brief the troops." Chris grumbled as he swayed to the left, slowly sauntering towards one of the regular elevators, Jill floating along in tow.

"Hey wait, you're going to have to tell me a little more." Jill injected.

"Look, I just don't think a relationship based on a shared catastrophe is a good idea. You base it on heightened emotions, not feasible relationship qualities. You always end up breaking up."

"Oh."

"When I think about it, Claire and Leon have nothing in common. She doesn't even like cops. She choose us, he chose himself. So honestly, I'd rather not even have him around her, but if I say anything she'll do the opposite, just to spite me."

"Hmm, I suppose I agree…" Jill said quietly, sounding more distant.

Perhaps he was being too critical, he'd had plenty of good healthy friendships with other survivors, but as for romantic interludes, not so many. Using yourself as an example for other people usually ends really bad, and perhaps his situation was unique, but in truth, Chris was just trying to get on with his life.

Leon was wrong, Chris was trying to change, but still be there for everyone left behind. His position of authority, ranking member of a holocaust, meant that he was the shepherd of the flock. It was his job to avenge the deaths of every soul lost to Umbrella's mania, he couldn't give up on his anger, his rage, his tireless struggle. He couldn't take comfort just yet.


	3. Near Death Experience

**Death Becomes Her**

By Julesville

Chapter 2 - **"Near Death Experience"**

FOUR YEARS after Raccoon City

Time Frame: Noon, March 30th

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The Coffin had four floors if you didn't count the two sub-basements and the Sepulcher, the first three were sprawling bull pits where soldiers trained endlessly, researchers experimented with minimal sleep, and secretaries filed and collated without vacation, the fourth however was exclusive to FRO's administration.

Sometimes referred to as "The Glass Ceiling," but shorted to "The Ceiling," was a farcry from the floors that proceeded them. While one through three were busy as city blocks, the Ceiling had restricted access and generally a less active role in the day to day goings on of the organization. The fourth floor exclusively held the offices of the founders and a few conferences rooms, and generally only the admin, their aides, and invited guests would go there. It was generally seen as the retreat for the leaders, who most of the time were never in their offices, usually stalking the halls making sure everything was going right, or taking long trips to different seats of government and corporate headquarters, either reporting to different organizations on progress or politicking redundantly.

Usually, the 6 administrators were never in the same country at the same time, but they would always make time to meet the others for at least a heads-up meeting.

This is what lead to the creation of the "Executive Lounge," a room bigger then most school auditoriums; filled with everything the group would need at any particular time, as well as plenty of other fun stuff to keep them all in one place.

Jill relished this place, a sanctuary away from the noise, where she could work and accomplish things without the feeling that she was simply a laborer. In those meetings, she could effect policy, budget, human resources for a planet wide organization, where she knew she could make a difference.

Languishing in the one of the many plush leather chairs that dotted the rug carpeted landscape, Jill gelled while sipping a snifter of orange-cranberry juice she'd gotten from the bar. She had both feet propped on a nearby mahogany-wood coffee table, where a pile of papers rested quietly away from her, as if they were miles away. She yawned quietly and rested her head on the designer upholstery.

Still, despite the confronting surrounding, her mind wandered, aiding by the lilting tune of a piano expertly played in the echo of the room. What Chris had said, though unfortunate, was true. She had not been faking it when she agreed with him before.

In her life she'd gotten many answers to her hardest questions, but the truth of them were mostly debatable. When pushed to the limit she could keep her cool, but how far could she go; when faced with a life or death situation involving a friend she could save them, but what if it just wasn't possible, what would she do; she could feel emotions for her friends stronger then friendship, but did that mean she loved them? The more she learned about herself the more questions she would ask, a self-defeating method, but they were all good questions.

"Jill." Came the lithe, nymphet voice of FRO's resident prodigy.

Jill shifted her position, sliding her legs under her so she could lean her elbows onto the chair rest. A little ways away, Rebecca Chambers seated behind a massive ebony grand piano smiled at Jill with her impossibly cute features while she swayed slowly to the sonata she tickled out of the ivories.

"You seem pensive…" Rebecca sung as Jill studied her.

"Just wondering, business as usually." Jill came up with, holding her face up with one supported set of knuckles.

"What about, my dear?" Rebecca was like this when she played piano, wise beyond her years, soothing, competent, an object analyst.

"Nothing really. Hey, listen, have you had many… ya know, boyfriends since Raccoon City?"

Rebecca gritted her teeth like Jill was ripping of a festering band-aid, "Um, no. Is that bad?"

Jill frowned briefly, "No, that' not bad, but I mean, it's been 4 years."

"Well, I'm just so busy all the time, always making trans-Atlantic flights so I'm rarely at home, what kind of a good girlfriend could I be."

"Any, potential boyfriends? Been on any dates in four years?"

"You don't have to say it so coldly," Rebecca groaned sending Jill evil eyes before she lowered them and sighed, "But no. Unless you call drinks with the Deputy Prime Minister of England a date… but I don't."

"Hmm, then I guess that makes two date-less carrier girls right here. Cheesecake for two!" Jill jeered morbidly.

Rebecca looked up confused, "You? You're kidding right? How could you not be flush with guy friends, you're so beautiful."

"Shut up." If there was one thing that Jill hated the most, it was compliments when she was in her moment of defeat. Rebecca chuckled in response, prompting Jill to smile a little, "I'm in the same boat as you, how can I keep a relationship and save the world from Zombies at the same time? Really, how do I do that?"

"Well, I think you're supposed to make room for love somehow?"

"There's got to be more to this then that. We're two young, healthy, active girls, why aren't we out there ripping up the streets, turning men to putty like we're supposed to?

Rebecca smiled devilishly "I haven't made a man putty in god knows how long."

"Gross." Jill echoed but couldn't help but giggle at a good dirty joke.

Inside however, she couldn't concur. She knew the exact date and time of her last time, mostly because of a deep down forlorn regret. The event was in response to some intense emotional feelings that had very little to do with the man. In the downfall of her home, she'd found some carnal comfort in a compatriot's arms. She'd kept the fact and identity secret to even her closest friends, and the man had a agreed to let the moment slip into obscurity despite his lingering presence. This identity would most likely be revealed someday in a very emotional scene involving tears and punching, but not today…

For a moment, Jill let her eyes wonder across the room, where far from earshot, Barry Burton and Carlos Oliveira were deep in a game of pool. Carlos, her war-buddy from the mass outbreak in Raccoon city, looking rather unaccustomed to high-class living having resorted back to gray t-shirts and cargo pants, was perched over one of the corner pockets, his cue in hand, laughing at his opponent. Barry, whose sordid past with the S.T.A.R.S. survivors was all but forgotten, enough though he still wore it around his throat like a noose, was busy trying to line up a shot, pouting and grumbling through thick beard at his competition, trying to get him to move.

Her eyes lingered on Barry, the man who betrayed his friends because he loved his family too much. Jill, Chris, Rebecca, and anyone else who could have taken offence had already forgiven him, realizing that he'd had no choice if his family were on the line, supporting the idea that they'd do the same if they'd been blessed with children and a loving spouse. Barry, still, had to look at himself in the mirror every morning, he had to look at every step he'd taken in the last 4 years and decide if it was enough to make up for what's he'd done. Where he would have retired otherwise, Barry followed Chris and Jill and formed FRO, uprooting his family and putting them in Bilbao to the east, where his faithful wife spent her days reading and pruning her garden, and his two daughters attended the English school there.

Barry could answer some of the questions Jill had gathered, but then again, maybe she didn't want to the know the answers.

"The President of Russia once touched my butt. Did I tell you that?" Rebecca blurted out.

"Yes, many times." Jill groaned.

"I think he was just trying to help me into the presidential limo, but besides Zombie gropings, that's the most action I've gotten in a long time."

-------------

Chris fumbled through the papers his personal secretary had given him, selecting only the ones he found most apt and left the rest in the manila folder to hand back. In all he had several thick reports and he stuck them beneath his chicken-winged arm as he handed the folder to his aide.

"Thank you, Cindy, that'll be all I need from you today." Chris smiled politely as he turned to leave.

"Going out again?" Came Cindy's sweet voice, frezzing him in his place.

Chris turned back to observe the girl, the kind-hearted survivor of Raccoon City, Cindy Lennox. With straw yellow hair that always seemed to be falling from her hair tie and the way she would always hold the files she carried tightly to her chest, she had the exact likeness of a diner waitress. However, she also possessed a motherly smile and large kind eyes, which would always give one the feeling that she really cared about you.

Chris smiled for real now, Cindy had the gift of making you want to contribute to the conversation.

"Yes, I have to go to a meeting at the European Epidemic and Treatment Agency in Brussels. I should be able to finish off today though."

"All by yourself?"

"Well I was thinking of asking Jill to come, the politicians like to see more then one of us at these things. Makes them think we think they're important"

Cindy chuckled slightly as she backed away, "That'll be good for you two. Have a nice trip."

Cindy would also give you the impression that she knew a lot more then she would say. However, only slightly confused by her response, Chris thanked her and turned back to business.

In the long solitary hallway of "the Ceiling," Chris strode towards the thick wooden doors to the executive lounge. Gripping the door knob he pushed in with his shoulder and quickly lipped inside. The door hadn't even swung closed yet when he'd made his way towards the center of the room where a collection of stumpy gray arm chairs surrounded a short teakwood table.

"Back to business, guys!" He called as he plopped down in one of the chairs, but already the various members of the executive staff were zeroing in on the table set.

Jill and Rebecca walked close as girls tend to, each hiding smiles that men were not meant to see. Carlos proceeded Barry, wearing a casual smile and hands in his pants pockets, while Barry slowly put on his brown suit coat and straighten his black tie before marching to a seat, as stoic as ever.

Jill was the first to arrive, giving Chris that greeting where you'd already seen each other five minutes ago, a casual nod and awkward smile. Chris returned it just as gracelessly.

Looking toward the door, she spoke, "Are we going to wait for Claire?"

Chris groaned, "She's still in town, we might as well start without her."

His groan was mirrored by the rest of the group, as much of it due to frustration with Chris as for Claire.

The hierarchy of FRO was a strange one. When in the beginning when it was a loose affiliation of survivors fighting impossibly high odds, there was no thought given to rank or who lead who, decisions were made as a group, usually reacting to things as they came. However, when the organization began to add a budget and thousands of employees, the system refused to change.

FRO was lead by a committee of it's founders; Chris Redfield, Claire Redfield, Jill Valentine, Rebecca Chambers, Barry Burton, and Carlos Oliveira. The six were regarded as both upper-level management and immediate authority for all of FRO's activities.

Each had an honorary title of "Vise-President", except for Chris who took the title "President" because a company needed a figurehead and he was naturally it. These titles however meant nothing in the inner-circle, simply that Chris was more anal-retentive then the rest. Decisions, like in the past, were made by the group and on the spur of the moment.

While everyone was equal, there were certain aspects of the organization that specific people took over. Rebecca Chambers, a genuine genius and general expert on most things, took much of the responsibilities of both the information bureau and research wing, so when she was not in the lab, you would find her jet setting across the globe confirming intelligence reports and meeting with influential people. Barry Burton, preferring for many reasons to keep a low profile, had taken control of the military aspect of FRO; training, weapon procurement, creating battle tactics, and constantly demanding improved technology to fight Zombies. Carlos Oliveira, who was a roamer by nature, had preferred to take a more long range approach to things, working behind the scenes in the intelligence division, often in god awful places where Umbrella had stored it's horrible secrets and bring them back to the Sepulcher. His experience was also invulnerable to keeping up relations with the 14 different mercenary units around the globe that FRO kept in case it couldn't be there in time. Chris and Jill had paralell responsibilities, Chris as a prominent, in-media administrator, and Jill ensuring that the day to day activities in FRO went along smoothly.

Claire was another story, while she wanted more responsibilities, her brashness and lack of experience more her only good enough to support the other VPs. However, this train of thought was floated around by Chris himself, who wanted her to leave the organization and returned to her studies. Still, it was Claire's exuberance that formed the back bone of the group, and although they did not give her too many important responsibilities, they would trust the girl with their lives.

"Was Leon here, I thought I saw his Helicopter sitting in the Heli-Campo." Carlos asked as he fell into the seat across from Chris, scratching his stubble laden chin.

"Yeah, he was dropping off a crate of T-Virus that you missed." Chris jeered.

Carlos smiled, "Hey, I just go where she tells me, blame her." He said pointing to Rebecca as she sat down daintily on the chair next to him, pressing her legs tight together and sitting with an impossibly straight back.

"Yeah, blame the book worm." Rebecca sneered, picking up the pitcher of water on the table and pouring herself a glass, "But we got the shipment, and that's what's important right?"

Chris snorted quietly, if only she knew, "Anyway, let's start this meeting…"

The five veterans collected themselves, leaving friendly mode behind and entering business frequency. Smiles and slouches, became stoic looks and positions suitable for pouncing on any danger that would arise. When it came to their work they were deadly serious, because any goof up or mistake on their part could mean a second Raccoon City, and they were not going to let that happen.

"Alright," Chris said opening one of the packets, "What's this about Barry and Carlos?"

Looking up from his own agenda, Barry's mustache moved up into speaking stance, "Carlos and I were planning a survival exercise for some of the recruits."

"How long was it supposed to be?" Chris asked.

"Only two days," Barry continued, "We were only planning to introduce them to some simple outdoors tactics, I mean, some of these kids haven't even seen the forest before."

Carlos raised a finger and took the floor, "We were heading out east to the foot of the West Pyrenees, there's a camp there used by the Guardia Civil for military exercises. I contacted them and thy were more then happy to let us use it for as long as we wanted."

"Perfect." Chris said as he smiled, then turned his head to Rebecca, dressed in a short sleeve white button shirt and shear black skirt that reminded him of the uniforms for female officers of the RPD, "Rebecca, I heard you had a big find."

She smiled and nodded, "Yep. Ladies and gentlemen, we just got some intel on a member of our Most Wanted list, Darren Deresh."

"Who's Darren Deresh?" Jill asked, weighing her head on her fist.

"Darren Deresh was a treasurer for Umbrella right before it fell. He's German and worked at the Paris headquarters for 21 years."

"How come we've never heard of him?' Carlos asked, "Or was I not paying attention before?"

"It's not surprising, the Most Wanted list really only goes up to 20, and Deresh originally ranked in as 46. He actually doesn't have much probably to do with the T-Virus project, but we believe that he may have seen financial reports about it. All we really wanted to do is talk to him during the trials, but when they came around he fled, so he was put on the list. There's currently an international warrant for his arrest."

"Where is he now?" Jill asked.

"My source has told me he's hiding out at a Chateau in the Black Forest in south Germany. Supposedly, he's been there partying for quite some time. I suppose he's waiting for the heat to die down before he tries to leave the European Union."

"I guess he doesn't realized how heated we really are." Chris interjected, "Who wants to handle this?"

"If you don't mind, Chris." Rebecca said raising her hand like she was in grade school, "I'd like to go get him myself. This shouldn't be to much trouble; I can just swoop in, grab him and be out of there in with no problems."

"Rebecca," Carlos said leaning in close to her, "Maybe I should take care of this, I've done a lot more of these extractions."

Rebecca smiled, "You've got that training thing to do. I'll be fine, just give me a couple of the soldiers you're not taking and I'll be back before nightfall."

Carlos chuckled as he leaned back once again, "Well, you can have it this time, but you owe me one."

Rebecca chuckled in return, "I guess Christmas came early this year."

Chris nodded, "Fine, if there are no objections… Ok, Jill."

Jill popped to attention, swiveling her head and upper body around to observe the man, "Yes?"

"My work today's going to take me to Brussels, I have to give a short report to the European Epidemic and Treatment Agency. I could use another body. Want to help me on that?"

Jill smiled and nodded, "No problem, I was going to supervise the routine maintenance on the mainframe today, but that sounds way less boring."

Chris nodded back, "Then it's a date."

-----------

"They're doing something important without me, I just know it." Claire commented into her half empty glass of wine.

"That was rude of me to just leave like that, I feel bad. It's like I'm always forgetting stuff when you're around." Leon also commented on into his half full glass of wine.

Claire turned her head up to look at the man's face. It was becoming quite distinguished, his fresh-faced flatfoot exterior melting away to a battle-tested anti-hero attitude. It fit him well.

She smiled a hidden, girlish smirk, one with a devious plot to support it. She stretched her body further across the bar so she could move into Leon's view. He turned his head slightly to look her right in the eyes, and added a garish smile just to be cute.

"Leon, when are we going to hook up?" Claire blurted, never one to be passive.

Leon snorted in mild laughter, "You know it would never work out between us."

Claire laid her head down across her arms, "Aww, does that mean you don't like me, guardian angel?"

"No, that's not it. You know I think you're great."

"Really?" Claire said trying to act excited.

"Yes, you know that, but we're on two different paths now. You're here in FRO, me, I work for the US government. I mean, my apartment is across the Atlantic ocean, how could we maintain that."

"Leon, I don't want to worry about logistics. I like you, you like me, were should be together."

"Come on, Claire, you need a lot of things, but I'm not one of them. You should forget about me…"

"I could never do that, not after what we went through together."

"Honestly," Leon mumbled turning his head, "I'm trying forget a lot of the crap that happened back there. I'm have far too much trouble sleeping at night."

"I know…" Claire mused circling her finger around the lip of her wine glass, "There are a lot of things we have to put behind us, but not the good stuff, and I consider meeting you, the best possible thing that could have happened to me that day. I don't want to forget you.

"Like wise…"

Clair leaned her head gently against Leon's thick shoulder, letting stands of hair fall from her bangs onto his chest. She laid her head there for a few moments that seemed like eternity but weren't long enough for her. She felt safe with that man, he was her guardian angel, it was like home.

In fact, it was almost like being with her brother, the thought of which was frightening and intriguing at the same time. In her life, her brother had been the greatest man she knew, no one had ever come close, him having had to be her father from a time they were very young. They say that good girls grow up to marry their "fathers," which, even though she was no good girl, meant she'd probably need to find someone like Chris.

Being safe at Leon's side, Claire had found her man. All she needed to do know was stay with him forever.

"Hey Leon, what's the "S" stand for, I bet it stands for Sexy."

"It's secret."

"Leon Secret Kennedy?"

"No, it's classified information, released on a need to know basis, very hush hush."

"Yeah right, I bet it stands for Sara."

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End file.
